Gratitude
by Sentimental Star
Summary: **COMPLETE** Peter comes to terms with how he has treated Edmund…EDIT: THE FINAL CHAPTER HAS BEEN POSTED!-Post PC. Moviebased. Brotherfic.-
1. Past Healing

**WARNING:** These next several chapters will undoubtedly turn out to be messy. Just _how_ messy, I'll let you decide. ::grins and winks:: Beware!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Well ::rubs back of head sheepishly:: while it is probably not a particularly wise idea to start posting another multi-chapter fic when I have several others in-progress already, I've been aching to get this out for quite a while now. _Honoring Him_ is coming along slowly, but it should be complete soon, and there is another _Brother Lessons_ fic that I'm intending to post, as well (although that might not be 'til July). This particular fic is a standalone piece that jumpstarted when I had some left over material from _Steadfast Heart_. I'm not planning on making it much longer than three or four chapters (possibly five), so please enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ T (possible upper end)

_**Summary:**_ Peter comes to terms with how he has treated Edmund…(Moviebased) (Brotherfic) (_NO _Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Quotes (Italics)**_

_Gratitude_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter One: Past Healing_

(Flashback)

"Bloody Wer-Wulf, with bloody claws, which are bloody sharp and bloody _hurt_," the groan echoed down one of the upper stone corridors in Aslan's How, reaching the small figure—short, even for his kind—where he was perched outside on one of the flatter rocks, smoking his pipe.

Curious—and rather concerned—he knocked his pipe against the boulder and hopped to his feet. Stooping to pick up the leather satchel that rested there, he entered Aslan's How and trundled steadily down the hall.

There was another groan. "And bloody guilt which mixed with bloody pride to make Peter bloody blind and bloody hard-headed."

Ah, so this was about the eldest Golden Monarch. As he was quite certain neither of the Queens would use…er, _quite_ such colorful language, this must be King Edmund.

The young man's voice was closer now, quieter—nearly a whisper, "And bloody fear which made me too sodding slow to stop Her."

_Her_? With a capital "H"? Oh, dear. That meant the Witch.

There was a muffled thump. He turned a corner just in time to see King Edmund slide down to the floor with his back against one of the corridor's walls, burying his head in his hands.

His shoulders shook once, silently. Then twice.

His watcher swiftly grew even more concerned: "Lad…?" the one word question, drawn out as it was, echoed down the corridor.

King Edmund jerked his head up. Even from here, his companion could make out the tears sliding down his cheeks.

Cheeks which promptly lost all color when their owner's dark eyes landed on him: "_Rorin_?" he croaked. "But _how_…?"

The Dwarf—for Dwarf he was, no matter what his mountain cousins might claim—smiled enigmatically, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Aye, Rorin I am, but not _your_ Rorin, I take it."

Edmund mutely shook his head, hastily concealing a wince. A couple more tears wended their way down his cheeks. "_My_ Rorin, as you say, must have died years ago," he whispered. "You do look just like him, though."

Rorin, fifth of that name, chuckled, coming forward to close the distance between them. "It is not outside the realm of possibility, Your Majesty. It has been many generations since my ancestors served in your court."

The young king cracked a faint smile, dark eyes growing warm and distant as he remembered the past. "Your clan were some of our finest physicians. You saved my life and the lives of my siblings many times."

Rorin beamed with pride, ruddy cheeks growing even more rosy as his family and their craft were complimented thus by a King of Old.

Edmund's eyes snapped back to the present as he gave the Dwarf a wry smile. "I don't suppose you have some of those wonderful herbs in your pack, do you? The ones that ease pain and fight infection at the same time? I had been led to believe that Healing was an all but forgotten art to your people."

Rorin sighed unhappily, "Alas, Sire, 'tis indeed true." He grinned slyly, settling his pack on the floor. "Fortunately, 'tis not so forgotten that my family has dismissed its value."

Edmund grinned tiredly, straightening up from his slouched position and shrugging out of the leather armor and tunic he'd been wearing since the night raid on Miraz's castle. Not bothering to conceal his wince this time, the young king turned his back to face Rorin.

The Dwarf sucked in a sharp breath when he caught his first glimpse of the dozen or so shallow, bleeding cuts decorating his young monarch's back. "Lad, these are nasty. How'd you get 'em?" He fished into his bag and emerged with a water-skin and a cloth, immediately wetting the latter with water from the skin.

"Wer-Wulf," Edmund hissed as Rorin prodded at the wounds, cleaning them with the damp cloth. He clenched his teeth, fighting the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Does your brother know?"

Edmund jerked, startled by the question. Heedless of the fact that his injuries were now screaming at him, the young man twisted to face the Dwarf. "Why do you ask?" he demanded.

Rorin gazed back evenly, unfazed by his monarch's sudden display of temper. "Lad, we're _Healers_, remember? What stories do you think have been passed down through the years by my clan?"

Edmund had the good grace to blush. "Oh," he murmured, voice small.

"'Oh,' would be correct," the tiny man remarked with a wide grin. "You and your brother were apparently terrors when one or the other of you was ill or injured."

Edmund just blushed harder and did not refute him. He also said nothing about his brother. Rorin sighed and brought out a jar of salve. It was only as he gently applied it that he spoke again, "Why don't you tell him, lad?"

Edmund looked away. "He has too much to worry about, Rorin. He doesn't need this, too."

Rorin, who was in the process of unrolling bandages, immediately stopped and glanced up in shock. "Lad, the thing he should be most worried about is _you_."

The youngest king shook his head. "I'm not that important, Rorin," he remarked softly.

Rorin's face grew red—and not from embarrassment. "Not that…!" sputtered. "Preposterous!"

Edmund smiled wanly. "It's all right, Rorin. It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't _matter_?" the Dwarf was fit to be tied. "Of course it _matters_! Of all the _absurd_…_inane_…_ridiculous_…!" He trailed off, starting to mutter invectives in the Dwarven tongue as he bandaged the teenager's shoulders, back, and neck.

Edmund carefully hid his wince as Rorin expressed his displeasure by rather tightly tying off the bandages.

At last, the Dwarven Healer finished, tying off the final bandage with a sigh. "That should do it, lad. Mind you treat them gently, now. I'd suggest finding Queen Lucy so she can check on 'em…" the next part was muttered as he started packing away his materials, "while I attend to some special business."

Edmund narrowed his eyes. "Rorin…" he began, tugging back on his tunic.

The Dwarf gave him a pointed look. "Your sister, Majesty."

Edmund rolled his eyes warmly, wearing a fond grin. "I'm going, I'm going," he grumbled good-naturedly, tying off his tunic and shrugging into his jerkin. He paused, just as Rorin straightened. "Rorin?" he murmured.

"Yes, lad?" the Dwarf asked softly, shouldering his pack.

Edmund blushed, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the wall in front of him. "Thanks," he whispered.

Rorin placed a sturdy hand on Edmund's shoulder and gently squeezed. "My pleasure, lad." Then, with a brief bow, he turned on heel and marched off, once again muttering invectives under his breath.

"Why am I suddenly worried for Peter's health?" the younger king murmured, clasping his jerkin shut.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Rorin was seething as he stormed through the lower corridors of Aslan's How, face thunderous. Anyone who happened to cross his path at that early hour quickly scrambled left and right to get out of it.

He paid them no mind. That is, until he came across Narnia's eldest Golden Monarchs in the middle of a shouting match in one of the side rooms branching off the chamber that housed the Stone Table.

"…If you had just _listened_ to me…!" that was Queen Susan.

"…Then we would have been overrun and quite possibly slaughtered to death!" Well, that was King Peter.

"Oh, and a fine diversion a _night raid _makes!" Queen Susan's voice was a hiss.

"What do you _want_ from me, Susan? I already told you it was a disaster!"

"No, Peter, the _White Witch _was a disaster. The night raid was an abject _failure_!"

There were a few long seconds of silence. Even Rorin, angry as he was, winced at the thinly veiled hurt that permeated the High King's voice when he spoke, "That's not fair, Susan."

"And neither is how you're treating Caspian!" she snapped.

Rorin snarled, marching into the chamber—just in time to see King Peter open his mouth to interject.

The Dwarf beat him to it: "That is _enough_, your Majesties!" he bellowed, voice ringing throughout the cavern.

Peter and Susan whirled around to face him, very much startled and even more embarrassed.

High King Peter, he saw, recognized him immediately (and little wonder there). He reacted in a way very similar to his brother—namely, his face lost every shred of color.

Queen Susan did not. Struggling to keep her voice pleasant (and the irony of that did not escape Rorin), she remarked, "I'm sorry, but this does not really concern you-"

Rorin finally lost his temper: "If you would pardon my saying so, Lady," and his voice was tight, "it very _much _concerns me. Especially when two of my monarchs have completely _ignored_ what is going on with their younger siblings!"

Peter's face went a step further upon hearing that, from ashen gray to snowy white; Susan's control merely began fraying. Rorin privately noted that the scowl she wore really did not suit her.

"Look," she spoke up tersely, "I'm not really sure you know-"

"Shut _up_, Susan!" Peter hissed, with such ferocity that even his sister was momentarily taken aback. "Shut up and take a _good_ look at just who you're talking to!"

Baffled, irritated, and furious, Susan did so…and went all the way from indignant red to a pasty, sickly white. "Rorin," she quavered.

"Yes, and—forgive me, your Majesty—it's high time you realized it, too!" he snarled. The Dwarf was too angry…too furious to realize he was being blatantly disrespectful towards his monarchs. But, as Susan and Peter privately admitted later, he had every right to be. The health (and happiness) of his Kings and Queens had always been his highest priority, and he took that duty very seriously: too often had he seen King Edmund close to death; too frequently had he comforted a Queen Lucy in tears because, even with her cordial, there was no guarantee that he (or one of her other siblings) would make it.

To have the two oldest monarchs so blatantly disregard their younger siblings' welfare infuriated Rorin beyond almost all reason.

"If you hadn't been wrapped up in your own silly squabbles you might 'ave noticed that your brother _isn't_ here, and neither is your sister!"

An abruptly frantic Susan did, indeed, notice that as she spun around, looking wildly about the room. "They aren't here! Oh, Peter, they've _gone_! But where-"

"Rorin, are they all right?" Peter demanded, anything but the Dwarf's presence and the Dwarf's words long forgotten.

"_All right_?" Rorin demanded incredulously. "No, they're not '_all right_'! Your brother came to me with at least eight swipes from a Wer-Wulf's _claws_, your Majesty! And your sister is nearly beside herself with worry because both of _you_ refuse to listen to anything she has to say!"

Peter looked horrified. "Ed's _wounded_?"

"_Yes_! Or did you not hear what I just said? Your brother is _wounded_. He could have _died_. And if you hadn't been so intent on your little power struggle with Prince Caspian you might 'ave _noticed_! Your brother believes himself to be completely _unessential_ because of the way he has been treated by _you_!"

Peter couldn't handle anymore. With a final, wild look at Susan, he tore off down the hall in search of their younger brother.

Rorin, of course, wasn't finished. He whirled on Susan as soon as Peter was gone: "And _you_, my Lady! Yes, your older brother made several poor decisions, mistakes that have cost us—_and_ him—dearly, an' he knows it! But he is the _High King_! Moreover, he is _your brother_! You should _not_ be focused on this prince when it is your brother who needs your support the most! You are entitled to your emotions, as all young ladies are, but _Lion's Mane_, your Highness…! You are a _Queen_. You are a _woman_. He is no more than a mere _boy_! Prince, yes, but still a boy!"

Susan's face was white, but she remained composed. "And Lucy?" it was a whisper.

"Your sister? Your _sister_ is absolutely _devastated_, your Majesty! Neither you, nor your older brother have believed a _word_ she's said since coming here! She is frantic with worry that somehow you or High King Peter will do something foolish and get yourselves _killed_!"

Rorin was huffing and panting and puffing and red-faced by the end of his tirade, and he wasn't even finished: "Now _you_ tell _me_, your Highness, how _anything_ is more important than the well-being of your family?"

Susan could only mutely shake her head, white-faced and very aware of the tears trying to trickle down her cheeks.

Rorin huffed, embarrassed (well, _that_ took a long time coming) and agitated; he knew his control wasn't what it should be, but, for all of that, he refused to take back his harshly spoken words. _Someone_ had to knock some sort of sense into their heads…

Growling softly at himself, he exited the room, just as Glenstorm entered. The Centaur glanced in confusion between the retreating back of the Dwarf he'd only barely caught a glimpse of and the pale countenance of his highly shaken Queen.

"Is everything all right, my Lady?" he asked softly.

Susan wordlessly shook her head, gazing out the door and praying with everything in her that Peter would find Edmund. /Oh, Aslan, _please_ help us sort this mess out…/

(End Flashback)

_To Be Continued_


	2. Revelation and Reconciliation

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::laughs softly:: I'm sure there's going to be some disappointed "awws" in this chapter, as Rorin does not make an appearance. I think he's more popular than Edmund and Peter at the moment. But please enjoy this next little bit, I've been itching to get this out and I hope it lives up to your expectations!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _27_ of you, thank you! I'm so glad you've enjoyed this! Here's the next chapter, just waiting to be devoured…::grins::

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ Peter comes to terms with how he has treated Edmund…(Moviebased) (Brotherfic) (_NO _Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(1)** Hebrews 13:2

_Gratitude_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Two: Revelation and Reconciliation_

(Three Days Later, By Narnian Reckoning)

Edmund Pevensie leaned his aching head back into one of the upholstered (and lumpy with cotton stuffing) seats of the train car, shutting his eyes. In some ways, this was better than the Underground, but it in no way compared to the air of Narnia. That…or other things.

With a grimace, he tugged irritably at the starched collar of his shirt. He had forgotten how much he disliked his British clothing until he had worn his Narnian ones again. He wouldn't even _touch_ his jacket or scarf until he and Peter had reached school…

"Oh, Ed, stop fiddling with it. That only makes it worse, you know."

Opening his eyes, he gave Lucy a half-hearted glare…then smirked slightly when he noticed she was picking at her blouse's starched cuff. "Indeed, Queen Lucy? Perhaps you should tell that to your hand."

His little sister half-groaned, half-laughed where she sat across from him in the train compartment, "Did I say for you? I meant for me."

"Deeply sorry, Madam," Edmund groaned, "but you'll excuse the rather sudden urge I have to completely yank it off. Honestly, why did we agree to let Mum use _starch_ of all things on our clothing?"

Lucy giggled, standing up to kneel next to her younger brother on his seat and batting at his hands as he went to tug on his shirt again. "Probably because anything else was too strictly rationed. Here, let me see. You might be able to take it off."

"Not likely," Edmund grumbled, dropping his hands and letting her have a look. "That would be too convenient."

Lucy grinned, studying his collar. "You're in a mood today, Ed. What's up?"

He sighed, once again shutting his eyes. Rolling back his shoulders and shaking out his wrists, he admitted, "Nothing really. I'm just tired. And sore," added with a hiss as her hand accidentally brushed a small, half-healed cut on the back of his neck.

Lucy's eyes widened. "Shirt off," she demanded.

Edmund blanched. "What? But, Lucy-"

Lucy rolled her eyes, trying not to betray her agitation, and pointedly yanked on his collar. "So we'll draw the bloody curtains. _Shirt off_."

Edmund sighed, but complied, muttering about little sisters and bloody Healers.

He yelped as Lucy gave him a not-so-gentle jab in the back. "Careful, Lu!"

Her eyes widened even more when he revealed the extent of the damage. "Ed…" she murmured, paling.

At least a dozen long, shallow cuts decorated Edmund's back, shoulders, and neck, some barely a centimeter from his spine. He grimaced as she started to lightly probe a few of them. "The Wer-Wulf got in a few swipes before I could shove my sword into him. It's not all that bad, really."

Lucy snorted softly. "Only because someone knew you well enough to get you to the Healers before you could slip off and let them get infected. And I'd say it was a fair bit more than 'a few', Ed. You're lucky Peter didn't see these."

Edmund raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think he didn't?"

She gave him a look that clearly stated she thought he was an idiot. "Because he wouldn't have let you two feet from him if he did. I'm surprised he even let you issue that challenge to Miraz." Lucy frowned, and poked gently at the half-healed swipes on his shoulder. "Why didn't you _say_ something, Ed? _You're_ the one who found _me_ after the White Witch…"

"I did try to, Lu," Edmund reminded her gently, "but Peter had found us by then." He shrugged, "There wasn't really much time after that."

Lucy snorted again, lightly. "No. But there was plenty of time for Peter to give himself heart failure." She scowled slightly when she noticed the largest cut was beginning to show faint hues of red and started examining its edges.

Edmund hissed and tried to twist away. "Don't prod, Lu," he complained, "they're still tender."

Lucy raised an eyebrow and sat back on her heels, apparently deciding that they were far enough along in their healing process that she didn't need to worry. "And whose fault is that?"

Edmund stuck his tongue out at her. "Not mine. Lord What's-His-Name decided to mutiny, remember?"

She rolled her eyes warmly. "I'm not likely to forget it." Lucy sighed, and her look grew troubled as she leaned against the seat, unable to tear her gaze from the cuts littering her brother's skin. She knew they would scar, and Edmund had more than enough scars already. "You make like this is nothing, Ed," she whispered at last, "but I'm sure not even the Healers knew how close you came to dying that day. If those swipes had been several centimeters deeper or one centimeter closer…"

Her younger brother shifted uncomfortably. "If you don't mind, Lu," he murmured, "I'd rather keep that between us."

"Too late," a weak voice remarked from behind them.

Lucy glanced over his shoulder and paled. Edmund turned sharply to face the door of their compartment. "Su?" he asked faintly.

Their rather pale older sister was tightly gripping the doorframe. "Not just," she whispered.

Lucy dug her elbow into Edmund's side. "Ed," she murmured, nodding to the seat across from them.

Edmund slowly shut his eyes, turning to face the fourth occupant of their compartment. "How much of that did you hear?" he asked softly, opening his eyes.

"Enough," Peter stated flatly, tears trickling down his cheeks.

Susan sat down, balancing precariously on the edge of the seat Peter occupied. Silence grew between the four siblings, heavy and thick. For a few minutes, the only sound that could be heard in the compartment was the tick of Edmund's watch.

Finally, the younger boy spoke up, voice quiet and directing his words at Peter, "You already knew I had been injured." It was not quite an accusation.

Peter flinched, glancing away. "Not until Susan and I had been reamed out by a highly irritated Dwarf," he whispered.

Lucy stirred in her spot, her interest peaked. "Dwarf?" she asked.

While Peter dropped his head into his hands and nodded, Susan sat up straighter and cleared her throat, "Rorin," she supplied quietly.

Lucy frowned. "But surely...it couldn't have been _our_ Rorin, could it?"

Susan shook her head. "He couldn't have been anyone else. He knew us too well."

Edmund turned towards her, frowning. "That's impossible, Susan. He even told me so himself."

Susan merely crossed her arms over her chest and leveled him with an even stare. "Then explain why Glenstorm told me he didn't exist."

Her younger brother glanced at her sharply. "What are you talking about, Su?"

Susan sighed wearily and shut her eyes, beginning to explain, "Rorin barged into the room where Peter and I were…discussing…the night raid." She missed the hard scowl Edmund shot at her when he realized "discussing" the night raid actually meant arguing about it. "Glenstorm found me afterwards. He…wasn't too pleased with the state he found me in…"

"_My Lady, if you would just grant me __leave__…!" Glenstorm growled out; the Centaur's eyes were dark and his jaw hard._

_Susan shook her head, choking back more tears. "It's…it's all right, Glenstorm. I…I deserved much worse."_

"_Be that as it may, my Lady…__no man__, whether Human, Dwarf, or Hamadryad, has the right to speak to you in such a manner!"_

_They had been arguing about this for at least half an hour, ever since the Centaur had realized that the Dwarf he'd caught sight of was most likely the cause of Queen Susan's tears. But the Queen herself absolutely refused to grant him permission to seek retribution._

"_No__, Glenstorm. Rorin was only doing what he felt needed to be done. It is nothing he has not done before."_

_The Dwarf's name pulled Glenstorm up short. "My Queen," he replied delicately, "there __is__ no Dwarf named Rorin."_

(End Flashback)

IOIOIOIOIOI

Edmund slowly closed his mouth, feeling slightly stunned. /_Rorin_…? How is that even possi_-_/

"'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers,'" Edmund jerked at his brother's quiet voice, "'for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.'" (1)

Peter's three younger siblings abruptly turned to face him. "_Peter_?" Susan asked sharply.

The older boy raised his head, fixing her with a tired gaze. "It's in the Bible, Susan."

"Yes, but why did you bring it up _now_?" she demanded, perhaps a little more harshly than she had intended.

Peter shrugged, if possible looking even more tired, but Lucy spoke up, looking thoughtful, "It fits, though. Don't you think so, Susan? I mean, I'm guessing Rorin's the one who treated Ed," she glanced at her younger brother for confirmation and he nodded. "You've already established the fact that he's the one who spoke to you. So why not?"

Susan frowned slightly. "An angel? I don't know, Lucy…"

Her little sister gazed at her archly. "You didn't think it was Aslan across the gorge, and yet it turned out to be Him in the end anyhow."

Susan sighed. "Supposing you're right, Lu…why would Aslan—if it was Aslan—send an angel?"

Lucy said nothing, merely glanced at Edmund. Susan paled and Peter turned white. Edmund merely scowled, and yanked back on his shirt, "_I'm fine_!"

"_Now_ you are," Lucy pointed out, "but even _you_ can't deny that it was close."

"_Lucy_…" Edmund warned softly, glancing pointedly in Peter's direction.

Their older brother's face was stark white.

Lucy grimaced apologetically and stood up. Quirking Edmund a rueful smile, she held out her hand to their older sister, "Come on, Susan. I think I just saw the food cart."

Susan dubiously eyed the empty corridor outside their compartment, but willingly slid her hand into Lucy's. Before the older girl could protest (not that she had really tried), her younger sister had pulled her to her feet and gently yanked her out of the compartment.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Once the door slid shut behind the girls, Edmund shifted uncomfortably in place, slowly growing unnerved under Peter's unwavering stare. Finally, unable to maintain their gaze, Edmund glanced away, staring out the window.

As he sat there, watching the buildings flash by, a thick coil of frustration slowly curled its way into his stomach: they were almost halfway to school, and Peter hadn't said anything. Well…other than to quote from the Bible, and Edmund felt distinctly uneasy whenever he tried to contemplate it (it hadn't been _that_ close, had it? Surely Lucy was exaggerating…).

He winced when Peter's thumb suddenly settled gently against his split lip, glancing up at his older brother in surprise.

Peter flinched and withdrew his hand, turning away.

When his brother refused to look at him, Edmund frowned slightly and reached across the compartment to touch Peter's hands where they were clenched in the older boy's lap. "Peter?" he asked tentatively.

The fourteen-year-old drew in a deep breath and hesitantly raised his eyes to the younger boy's face. "E-Ed…" he swallowed, "c-can I…?" He gestured helplessly to his younger brother's shirt.

Edmund's eyebrows furrowed with a nearly audible _click_, but he nodded and turned his back to his older brother, gingerly lifting his shirt and vest.

Behind him, he heard Peter suck in a sharp breath as his back was once again exposed. Delicately, his brother traced a finger along the largest swipe to where it ended barely a centimeter from the younger boy's spine, heedless of the way Edmund's eyes stung at the tenderness inherent in the gesture.

Releasing a shaky breath, Peter gently pulled the shirt down by its hem, his examination done, and smoothed his hand lightly down the eleven-year-old's back. Turning Edmund around to face him, he murmured, reaching out to grasp the younger boy's chin and tenderly brushing back a wayward dark curl, "I'm sorry." His breathing hitched, "I'm sorry. I almost got you kil-"

Edmund interrupted him, dark eyes full of tears, "Shut _up_, Peter. _Please_." He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, "Please, _please_ just shut up. You were going through a rough time. It's only natural that you would-"

"_Don't you __dare_," Peter hissed, his sharp tone causing his younger brother's eyes to fly open, "don't you _dare_ try to excuse the way I treated you! _You_ went through the same thing; _you_ never lost sight of who you were…who _we_ were!"

"It's not an excuse, Peter!" Edmund cried, frustrated. "It's a _reason_! I was never the High King; I never had _near _the responsibility you did! I never had to juggle a kingdom and a family both, or maintain the same connection to Narnia's very _blood_…! It's not an excuse, Peter, it's who you are!"

"That's rubbish, Edmund! It doesn't matter whether it's an excuse or whether it's a reason; _I still had absolutely no right to treat you as shabbily as I did_!"

Peter shut his eyes then, the echoes of his voice ringing in their compartment. For a few minutes nothing could be heard except the older boy's hitched breathing. When he finally spoke again, all fire had gone out of his voice, "Ed…Edmund…" Peter murmured brokenly, pulling back and releasing him, "th-the day you returned to us at Aslan's camp…I-I swore I'd never again alienate you," his façade crumbled, "and I _failed_ you. _Spectacularly_. I…I'm not sure I can forgive myself for that…and I don't know how _you __can_…"

Edmund took a deep breath. In one fluid motion, he had grabbed Peter's chin and forced his startled older brother to look at him, tightening his grip when Peter tried to glance away. "It's called love, Peter," he whispered, squarely meeting his big brother's eyes.

_To Be Continued_


	3. Complexity

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Well…::rubs head sheepishly:: I did mean to have this up earlier, but I decided the original ending just would not work with the tone I've set for this work. I decided to rewrite it. That took a while—but I am so very pleased with it right now, and I hope you are, too!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _52_ of you, thank you! I had no idea this would be such a hit, and I hope it lives up to that reputation!

_**Rating:**_ T (definitely upper end, folks)

_**Summary:**_ Peter comes to terms with how he has treated Edmund…(Moviebased) (Brotherfic) (_NO _Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Quotes (Italics)**_

_Gratitude_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Three: Complexity_

(Three Hours Later, Boys' School)

Edmund worried. His brother, by nature, was a protective git (a bit too much of one, really), aided and abetted by their time spent in Narnia. He did not readily seek the comfort of his siblings, though Edmund (and the girls) often wished he would. He saw it as imperative that they never see him as anything less than invincible (though, indeed, they already had; Edmund more so than the girls). Their first, abrupt severance from Narnia only exacerbated the situation.

Now, though…now, Edmund found himself in the rather disconcerting role of comforter, when for so long _Peter_ had been that crutch.

Quite frankly, Edmund did not know what to do. Since leaving the train station and all its chatter and clatter, Peter had been unusually silent, scarcely walking a half-meter from his younger brother's left side.

It was only when they stopped in the wide doorway of the refectory, gazing warily at the chaos within, that Edmund realized (with a thrill) that Peter was absolutely terrified. Of what, Edmund did not know.

Aware, suddenly, that Peter was trembling, he made a show of leaning amicably against his brother's shoulder, hiding the fact that he had slipped his hand into his brother's open palm. They had perfected this art in Narnia, for the times when they wanted to communicate something without being overheard by a visiting dignitary. It was proving vastly useful now, "Just get through supper, Pete," he urged softly under his breath, pasting a look of curiosity on his face as he pretended to survey the dining hall. He gave his brother's hand a hard squeeze, "Then we'll make a break for it."

In spite of everything, Peter snorted out a laugh, "You make it sound as if we're headed into battle, Ed."

Edmund smiled pleasantly at a seventh year who paused next to them in the doorway, eyeing the two Pevensie brothers curiously.

Slipping his hand out of Peter's and draping himself quite obviously over his brother's shoulders, he smirked warmly at the fellow, who quickly realized that, yes, they were, in fact, related, and yes, they were, in fact, quite close. Needing no more proof than that and clearly able to relate, the older boy laughed and continued on his way.

Once their audience was more or less gone, Edmund relaxed more fully against his brother, before reluctantly pulling away. "In a way we are, Peter," he murmured, and offered the older teenager a lopsided, half-smile when Peter tipped his head back against the younger boy's shoulder. "It's not going to be easy. Aslan never said it would be. But we've face worse odds before and come out of it all right. Frankly, I'll just be glad if we can survive supper," muttered just as two hapless first years accidentally crashed into each other.

His reward was a grateful, if watery, chuckle.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It was not easy leaving the calm, deeply reassuring presence of his younger brother, if even only for supper. Neither boy was particularly eager to be separated again so soon after Narnia, but this one night, at least, the students were expected to eat with their age mates.

They were a good group of blokes, the fifth years—or, at least, most of them. Peter even had friends among them (that he had not driven away last year by his arrogance and idiocy, anyway). Of those he had been friendly with, the majority seemed to have decided to let him cool off for the year, and for a while, the only one he had let near him was Edmund (or his sisters, when they visited). Even if, most of the time, it was to have someone he could lash out at and know they would never think the less of him.

Peter winced at that last thought, poking disinterestedly at his turkey with gravy and mash. He was sure it was delicious (at least by English standards), but he simply…wasn't hungry, though he knew Edmund would be.

"He needs to eat more," Peter grumbled under his breath, suddenly recalling (now that there was no veil of anger and misery drawn over his eyes) that for the last few months before they had been pulled back into Narnia to help Caspian, Edmund seemed to have eaten very little in his presence.

Frowning now, Peter lifted his head and stared across the dining hall at his younger brother's back where Edmund sat with the other third years. The tension drained out of his shoulders (if only slightly) when he saw Edmund slicing away quite happily at a filet of salmon.

Sighing quietly, Peter turned away, crossing his knife and fork before placing them together on his plate. Bowing his head, he dragged both hands through his hair, half of him glad and grateful that his brother was actually eating _decently_ for once, while the other half of him wished the younger boy would hurry up already so they could leave.

As soon as that thought hit him, however, searing shame flushed his cheeks. He had been utterly unfair to Edmund this past year, and one year of blame and irritation and anger was _quite_ enough in his mind—it was _more_ than enough, by Peter's standards.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Edmund paused mid-bite into a chunk of salmon, frowning slightly as he sensed something not quite right in the atmosphere around him.

Carefully, he finished that particular bite of his meal, slowly and deliberately chewing it until it was gone. Then he placed his knife and fork together on his plate and surreptitiously surveyed his table to both ends and either side. When he found nothing amiss there, he turned—slight suspicion growing—and snuck a glance at his brother's table. He frowned even more when he caught a glimpse of Peter just turning away.

Unhappily, he pressed his lips together and stared intently at his brother, hoping Peter would give him some clue as to what the hell was wrong.

But Peter only dropped his head into his hands, the tense set of his shoulders bringing a worried scowl to his younger brother's lips, /What are you blaming yourself for now, you noble git?/

As if his thoughts had summoned him, Peter's shoulders jerked and he spun around to face Edmund, something guilty entering the older boy's countenance.

Edmund sighed, losing his scowl, and gave his older brother a gentle, if prompting, look.

It startled a tired half-smirk out of Peter, who gingerly shook his head and pointedly glanced at Edmund's still half-full plate.

That unvoiced response had Edmund scowling again, half-heartedly and in pleasantly annoyed surprise. It had been quite a while since Peter had cared enough to fuss at him (however non-verbally) for not eating enough.

Scowling still, he speared an asparagus tip drenched in butter sauce with his fork and pointedly bit into it in full view of his brother, as if saying, _See? I'm eating._

It won a faint grin from Peter, who nodded approvingly, before returning to his own meal…which, Edmund noticed with a small frown, he did not really appear to be eating.

It also garnered a few snickers from those seated around him. "_What_?" he demanded, scowling even more fiercely.

The lad seated across from him was one of the better, if more outspoken, fellows who seemed to have attached themselves to him this past year. He now smirked, warmly and widely, replying with great amusement, "A bit of a mother hen there, aye, Edmund?"

Edmund snorted, spearing another piece of asparagus, "That's putting it mildly," he grumbled.

"It's quite simple, really," this came from another third year, who was seated beside Edmund on their table's bench and just as dark-haired as he was, "your brother has a complex."

Edmund's next bite of salmon stopped halfway to his mouth and dropped to his plate with a clatter, "Excuse me…but my brother has a _what_?" he demanded.

Unfazed by the sudden glower being sent his way (which was quite remarkable in and of itself), the lad continued, "_You_ know…a _complex_. An absurdly overblown sense of protectiveness, like when a fellow says you have a _sister_ complex, only, in your case, I think it's more like a little brother one."

Edmund snorted again, stabbing a final bite of salmon, before pushing himself away from the table, fed up with the lot of them, "If Peter has a 'little brother complex'," he muttered, standing up and marching away from the table, "then _I_ have a _big brother_ one."

He left at least half a dozen pairs of eyes blinking after him. "…You know," the first lad who had spoken ventured at last, watching Edmund slow up once he reach the fifth years' table and drape a gentle arm across the shoulders of said big brother, "I think he does."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when a warm arm curled around his back. "Pete?" was breathed against his ear.

The fourteen-year-old shut his eyes gratefully. " 'Lo, Ed," he muttered.

"Think you're ready to escape?"

A faint smile finally flitted across Peter's countenance as he turned to face him, opening his eyes. "I've _been_ ready since we first got here."

There was a squeeze, and Edmund gently hefted him to his feet.

"Did you eat enough?" Peter made sure to ask softly.

Edmund snorted, rather more warmly than he had earlier at his own table. "I'm fine, Peter," he murmured as they quickly slipped into the thin stream of boys headed out of the dining hall. "I'm more concerned about you. You didn't eat very much, did you?"

Peter tightly shut his eyes and shook his head. "I wasn't all that hungry," he whispered as they exited the dining hall.

Edmund shot him a sharp look, eyebrows furrowing together worriedly. However, before he could say anything, a deep voice suddenly rang out warmly behind them in the hall: "Pevensie! Pe-ven-_sie_!"

Startled, both boys whirled around to find the upper forms' Literature professor headed their way down the hall, waving a small white card at them.

"Sir?" Peter asked, as the slender, absurdly tall man joined them where they stood in front of an alcove.

The elderly man's hazel (/Nearly golden,/ Edmund thought quietly,) eyes crinkled warmly at the corners as he took in Edmund's arm wrapped protectively around Peter's waist. "You nearly forgot this," he said by way of explanation, handing over the small card to Edmund. "It has your roommate's name on it."

Edmund started, blinking rapidly, "My roommate? Oh, but, sir, I thought-"

"Ah, now," the man interrupted, still smiling warmly, "no buts. A few rooms were rearranged," he winked at a highly befuddled Peter, "at least in this case." Then he turned on heel and, with a backward wave, headed in the direction of the staff quarters, one hand shoved into the pocket of his burgundy waistcoat.

"So what does it say?" Peter finally asked, leaning over Edmund's shoulder to try and read it once his instructor had walked away.

A brilliant grin suddenly split his younger brother's face. Lightly slapping Peter away, Edmund quickly shoved it into his trousers' pocket. "Never you mind," he scolded warmly. Of course, the absolutely delighted grin he wore rather negated it.

"Meaning it _is_ probably one of your mates, and I _should_ probably expect him to come knocking at my door during all hours of the night, asking me where you are," Peter remarked dryly, straightening up.

"You could say that," there was mischief in Edmund's tone and Peter detected it.

"Ed?" his older brother asked, puzzled.

Edmund just continued to grin, although it had considerably softened by now, and tucked a rather startled Peter back under his arm. "Come on," he chuckled, "let's get you back to your room. With any luck, we'll have a couple of hours to ourselves before your new…er…'roommate' arrives."

Peter really did not have much choice in the matter and allowed himself to be gently dragged along through the hallways of their boarding school. That is, until Edmund suddenly came to an abrupt stop in the library corridor, causing Peter to bump into him. "Erm…which way was it again?" he asked sheepishly.

It surprised a warm, half-laugh out of Peter, who ducked out from underneath his younger brother's arm and took the lead.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Which bed is yours?" Edmund asked once they arrived at the room and Peter had unlocked the door to let them in.

"That one, I guess," his older brother replied softly, indicating the one closest to the door with his luggage already sitting at the foot of it. Peter stared a little as Edmund (rather ungracefully) flopped across the other, legs and long limbs sprawled everywhere. "Ed? You know that's my roommate's, right?"

Edmund grinned widely up at the ceiling. "I'm sure he won't mind," he replied, again with that note of mischief.

Peter seated himself rather more gracefully on said roommate's bed, sitting near his little brother's head and gazing at him upside down, frowning slightly, "Ed, I don't think-"

But Edmund merely continued to grin, tilting his head back as he smirked up warmly at him.

Peter frowned even more, eyeing him suspiciously, "You're certain."

It wasn't exactly a question, but Edmund answered it, anyway, "Very," he retorted.

Peter sighed, too tired and too worn out to play this game, "Care to enlighten me, then?"

Edmund frowned thoughtfully, reaching up to touch his brother's cheek, "Pete-" he began.

Both boys jumped when a sudden knock at the door interrupted them. While Peter's face clouded with disappointment, Edmund's did the exact opposite. With a grin that lit up his entire face, but did little more than cause his older brother to scowl at him, Edmund hopped to his feet and answered the door with a wide smile, "Yes?"

The startled dorm parent on the other side blinked at him, before asking slowly, "Edmund Pevensie?"

"Yes?" if possible, Edmund's manic grin widened.

The poor man truly started looking worried now. "I have your luggage with me."

"Thank you, sir," he answered brightly, accepting the suitcases the man held out to him.

The dorm parent was growing more bewildered by the second. "I trust you know the rules? No sneaking off after lights out at ten? No food, save in the common rooms? Study time and free time all at the appropriate hours?"

Edmund kept grinning. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter's mouth drop open. "Yes, sir, I do."

"Very well, then. I'll see you at the dorm meeting tonight at eight. Good evening."

"Good evening, sir," Edmund returned quietly, as the man headed off down the hall with the luggage cart.

A moment later, he turned from the door with a soft laugh, letting it fall shut behind him. "Well, he came a little earlier than I expected," murmured mischievously; he grinned when he saw Peter still gaping at him. Setting the suitcases at the foot of the second bed—his _own_ bed—Edmund smirked warmly. "You can shut your mouth now, Peter," he remarked with a half-stifled laugh, gently patting his older brother on the head.

The effect was instantaneous: "You little blighter!" Peter cried out happily, surging to his feet and all but tackling his currently laughing younger brother onto the bed, no longer worried about mussing up the sheets because it _was_ his little brother's bed. "You _knew_! You've known since supper and you didn't _tell_ me!" A wide smile carved his face.

Edmund was laughing too hard to really answer as his older brother's fingers sought his sides and began mercilessly tickling him. "Yes," he finally gasped out between spurts of giggles, "yes. Peter, stop! Peter, please! Stop already, you great git, _stop it_!" Several more spurts of laughter made their way through, but Peter finally relented.

For a few seconds after his big brother had broken off his assault, Edmund continued to convulse in his arms, trying to get his laughter back under control. Peter's face softened as he watched him, and a moment later he lay down beside Edmund on the bed, tucking one arm beneath his head. Curling the other arm around Edmund's back, he used it to draw his little brother against his chest.

"That's really not fair, you know," Edmund finally remarked when he caught his breath.

Peter merely grinned, really and truly grinned, and Edmund sent up a silent cheer when he saw it. "Neither is keeping vital information from your older brother."

"Vital," Edmund snorted softly, nestling his head against Peter's neck. "That wasn't vital. Vital is life and death. Vital is certain older brothers' tendencies to overanalyze and over think things that should remain in the past."

"Thought that was your job."

"No," Edmund snorted again, warmly. "_My_ job is to make sure said older brothers do not wallow in self-pity and depression and—what _are_ you doing?"

For Peter had suddenly leaned down and nuzzled their noses together. "Being grateful," he murmured.

Edmund's shy, delighted smile could have lit up all of Cair Paravel.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Neither brother went to the dorm meeting that night. They spent most of it curled together on Edmund's bed, speaking quietly about recent events and why their bond—so strong in Narnia—had strained this past year in England.

"…I never meant for it to carry over into Narnia, Ed," Peter whispered some time later, long after most of the other lads in their dormitory had gone to sleep, shame coloring his face as he bowed his head in a silent plea for forgiveness. "Truly, I didn't. Foolishly, I believed that once we were in Narnia again, everything would be all right. But it wasn't. It was _different_, and I reacted to that difference by taking it out on you. Caspian and Susan, even Lu—a little—too, but mostly you."

There had been a time in Narnia when anyone foolish enough to demean King Edmund within Peter's hearing (and sometimes even beyond it) found themselves treated to the full, unrestrained ire of Narnia's High King. Though words were one of Edmund's greatest strengths, if anyone put so much as a syllable out of place in regards to the younger king's honor, integrity, loyalty, or heart, they were subjected to a tirade that was more poetry than possessive (though, there was plenty of that in it, too) as Peter described in sweeping detail why his beloved brother was exactly the _opposite_ of what they thought. These confrontations usually ended with offenders as meek as Moles and a beet-red younger brother who pulled his irate High King out of the room at the earliest opportunity.

"When" and "why" it had changed in England had not been breached until now: Peter had been hurt, and angry, and frightened, when they were tossed out of Narnia and back into England, and he had lashed out in the only way he knew how, at the only one who might understand.

No one could read Peter more easily than Edmund, and he knew his younger brother was reading him now—reading everything within him and passing no judgment until it was all laid bare before him.

When he found what he was looking for, the eleven-year-old's entire face softened and his chocolate eyes filled with comprehension and compassion.

Peter's entire frame relaxed, then, most of the tension fleeing his body, and he cuddled up to his younger brother, gently nudging his nose underneath Edmund's chin.

The younger boy blinked, dazed and slightly stunned by this clear request for comfort. Hooking his arm behind Peter's neck to hold his older brother in place, Edmund sent a silent prayer to heavens that it might work.

It seemed to: Peter's arms immediately curled tightly around his waist. Smiling sadly, Edmund turned his head until their foreheads could touch. "Aslan does not forget his kings, Peter," he finally murmured, "even if some of them can no longer return to Narnia."

He felt Peter half-smile against his neck. "I know," the older boy whispered, then sighed. "It might…take me a while to believe it, but I do know."

"Aslan is patient, Pete," Edmund reminded him softly. "He will understand."

Peter's lips pulled into something that more accurately resembled a smile. "You're quite patient yourself, Ed," his older brother teased gently, but there was no mistaking the gratitude underlying it.

Edmund snorted quietly. "Except for when you continually insist upon fraying it, you mean."

"Right," Peter agreed wistfully, "except for that." A moment later, he touched his brother's shoulder—a silent request that the younger boy release him.

Quirking an eyebrow curiously, Edmund loosened his hold, but only enough to let Peter pull back and meet his eyes.

He wasn't expecting the tenderness in his brother's blue eyes—although, considering what had passed, he shouldn't have been so surprised. Resisting the urge to fidget, he murmured, "Pete…?"

Edmund bit back a squeak as he was suddenly crushed in his older brother's arms. For several unending seconds, Peter clung to him wordlessly, trying to pour everything he _couldn't_ say into that embrace.

His younger brother huffed quietly, slightly embarrassed, but after a few minutes, a fond smile began playing at the corner of his lips. "It's all right, Peter," Edmund assured him softly. "Really, I do understand. You don't need to say…"

Peter shook his head and tightened his grip. "No," he whispered, "I owe this to you. You deserve to know."

Edmund's smile grew. "Peter, _it's all right_. You were articulate enough tonight."

Peter released a deep, shuddering breath, leaning his head forward against Edmund's shoulder. "I-I just-"

"Peter…_I know_."

Peter snorted thickly. "Then shut up and let me hold you."

Edmund muttered a soft, _"Hmph_," but saw no reason not to comply.

_The End_


End file.
